


The Wee Hours

by Harmonious_wordsmith



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston (Actor) - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmonious_wordsmith/pseuds/Harmonious_wordsmith





	The Wee Hours

You trudge up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. After a tough gig that went on and on, all you wanted was to collapse into your bed. You'd shower in the morning. You promised yourself for the hundredth time that month, you would never do a wedding gig solo again.   
When you walk into your too-bright apartment, your heart stutters. You know you didn't leave the lights on. You stow your cello by the front door, kick off your shoes, and grab an umbrella, wielding it overhead like a club. You hear shuffling near your bedroom.   
Slowly, you push yourself to investigate. 'This is stupid.' You think to yourself, 'Isn't this how every horror movie begins?' By the time you make it down the hall, you've mentally run through every slasher-movie-plot you've ever seen, meaning you're shaking like a leaf. You hear drawers opening and closing, your closet door slides open and shut. Right as you reach for the doorknob your bedroom door opens and, without thinking, you swing as hard as you can, aiming where you expect their head would be. You make contact with something and the burglar falls forward, yelping in surprise. You keep swinging.  
"Ow! Stop! Darling, what are you doing!?" You recognize the voice,  
"Tom?" You drop the umbrella, helping your boyfriend to his feet as he rubs his head and shoulder. "You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here at 4am?"   
"Well, I was planning to surprise you, but not quite like that." He chuckles, beginning to gather the things he dropped.  
"What's all this?" You say, spotting your favorite pajamas, warmest sweatshirts, and your slippers, all on top of a spare comforter that you normally kept in your closet.   
"We're having breakfast."   
He pushes you into the bathroom to change from your black dress and heels into your pjs. When you emerge, he has the comforter and a basket, and he takes your hand before you can ask any more questions, and leads you to the roof of your building. He picks a good spot, with a nice view over the city and he spreads out a blanket, then digging into the basket, he sets out plates and bowls with fruit and cereal, and a thermos of still piping hot tea.   
You smile fondly at him, looking so proud of himself, as he tugs your hand to sit down with him,  
"We never get to eat breakfast together anymore. I'm always off to a call time or read through when you get home from a gig, and by the time I'm off work, you have a rehearsal or another performance. So we're making time." You cuddle up next to him, the comforter wrapped around the both of you, and watch the stars fade and the sky turn from navy blue, to lavender, to orange, red, and yellow, the sunrise painting it's hues on the storm clouds threatening your beautiful morning.   
The cereal does nothing to stave off the cold of the dawn hours, but you and Tom share the thermos of tea, already with a splash of milk and sugar, and stay huddled close together under the thick blanket. He keeps his arms wrapped around you, runs his fingers through your hair, whispers gently about mundane happenings on set last week, shares a poem snippet that he ran across this weekend that made him think of you, and as you watch the sun peeking over the horizon, you feel so relaxed, so content, that you don't think you could move if you wanted to.  
You listen to Tom's steady heartbeat, feel the rise and fall of his chest under your head, hearing his deep breathing. Right as you're about to drift off, you feel him shift to check his watch and he heaves a deep sigh.   
"I have to leave, darling. Call time is in half an hour." You grunt. Maybe if you don't move, he'll have to stay with you. Laying in a tangled heap on the roof, letting the rest of the world go on without you.   
He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest.  
"Come, darling, do you really want me to get in trouble?"  
"Uh-uh." You mumble, still unmoving  
"Then I need to get going,"  
"Uh-uh." He laughs again, planting a kiss on the top of your head.   
"I wish I could stay, love." He sounds so pained. You make yourself sit up, telling him you'll clean up, that he doesn't have to help, that he can get going if he needs to. He still gathers the dishes and leftovers, piling everything into the basket and shaking out the blanket, and he practically carries you back downstairs to your apartment.  
He tucks you into bed,  
"I'll see you for dinner tonight, love."   
"Mmhmm. Have a nice day, hon." You whisper, barely conscious, "I love you." Tom pauses. You're already falling asleep, unaware of what you've said.   
That's the first time either of you have said that. It's always been Implied that you love each other, but neither of you had ever gotten up the nerve to actually say it. You're fast asleep when he's finally able to react,  
"And I you, my dear." He kisses your forehead, "sleep well."  
He leaves quietly, being sure not to disturb you.   
His driver picks him up right outside your building five minutes later. En route to his location he pulls the velvet box out of his pocket, taking a moment to look at the modest diamond in its simple setting, envisioning it on your hand. He smiles to himself.  
Tonight.   
Tonight will be the best night of his life.


End file.
